Looking upriver
Snettisham
2014 - 8: The Way it Should Be, Days 3 &4
September 9-22
Looking upriver
So
it was getting dark when I headed to the cabin,
but not
so dark that I needed my headlamp to see. Unfortunately, it was not the
restful
night I hoped. Cailey got up and paced and paced at 11:30 p.m. until I
let her
out, though she failed to do anything. Several more times she insisted
on going
out and disappeared downhill, and each time it felt like I had just
fallen
asleep. The last time was at 6:00 a.m. and afterwards the two of us
finally
fell into a deep sleep. So it was a late start Saturday morning and I
felt
anything but well rested. I decided a day of leisure wouldn’t hurt, so
I
started the morning with a giant peach pancake (with beer in the
batter) and a
cup of cider on the porch. The day was looking like sunshine, the tide
still
falling, the morning peaceful. About 100 seals appeared on a submerged
sandbar
on the other side of the river, a haze of body heat, leaning upriver in
the
gentle breeze, perpetually suspended above them. The riverboat was next
to the
Ronquil and facing the opposite direction as it sat at the edge of the
sand.
I read and read, eventually moving down onto the
porch and
into the sunshine with Cailey. After she’d been gone for a while I
strolled
down the path to the river and spotted her, as I’d worried,
in the middle of
the sandbars. I called to her, then decided to go and see what she was
after.
By the time I’d put my boots on and was crossing the wide swath of
rockweed to
the sand, she’d found me the back way and was barreling down the path
behind
me. We walked past the middle of the river in the sunshine to the first
small
tributaries that seemed too large to cross. It looked like there was
less water
flow on this side of the river than usual—the channel with its standing
waves
that I’ve run on the way to an anchored boat was nonexistent, just the
outlet
to the creek.
I
did find a few interesting things out there in
my
wandering. In a pool of water, a large red jelly was entrained, clearly
dead
(likely a lion’s mane jelly). That’s an unusual coastal species for me
to see
(though possibly only because of water opacity), let alone to find in a
river.
I found another on the sand, as well as a small crystal clear jelly.
Interesting! On the way back, I turned around to find Cailey munching
on
something in the middle, perhaps the same thing that made her sick the
night
before. I ran back to find a fin and a few other bits of what was
probably a
salmon. I talked Cailey out of the rest of it and we returned to the
porch
where I finished my book.
Eventually I managed to convince myself to do a little work, carrying
additional tools to the new stair site, there deciding that a three
foot width
was the most appropriate width, despite the fact that I would have to
cut the
boards I already had ready. Using my small excavating tool (I don’t
know the
name of it) I carved away a trench in the hillside until I had the two
risers
more or less in place and level in both directions. It was turning out
to be a
much easier task than the previous set of stairs, and certainly our
experience
there helped. I returned to the lodge to cut the four 4’ boards into 3’
boards,
then brought them back along with nails and secured them across the
very top
and the very bottom. I realized that treads would work just as well for
structural integrity as boards across the bottom, as I’d done for the
first
set.
It took quite a lot of finagling to get the treads
level,
just as it had for the other set. But I’d learned my lesson and,
instead of trying
to lower the bottom of the risers to raise the top, I propped up the
top with
rocks. At some point I was forced to do this, as a huge boulder
prevented the
bottom of the uphill riser from dropping further. Just when I got it
all level,
I’d realize that the top tread was too close or too far away from the
path
leading to it and would have to readjust the whole thing.
But
all in all it went very well and before I
broke for
lunch I had the steps in the correct place and four boards secured as
treads.
Lunch was quesadillas and a beer on the porch. After that I cut five
more
boards into 3’ lengths and carried the first four to the site and
secured them,
then the other five. Rocks supported the bottom of the risers, but I
was
worried about the whole system sliding downhill, which seemed to be a
distinct
possibility. To help prevent that, I secured a 2x6 across the front of
the
risers so I Could pile rocks in front of it. This required the inside
bottom
tread to sit out from the risers an inch or so so the outer tread could
be
flush with the edge of the steps without a huge gap between the two.
Pulling
out the nails (left protruding somewhat for this possibility) of the
inside
board was a bit of a trial, but worth it. I pounded the rest of the
nails in
and carried all the tools back to the lodge with the exception of the
nails and
hammer, as one board needed a shim to level it out before securing.
Somewhere in the middle of all of this I lifted up
the
mattress and box spring in Hermit Thrush to see how wet it was and
where the
water was coming from. I’d noticed earlier that the box spring was damp
and
figured I needed to investigate. Similar to a couple of years ago, it
looked
like water was seeping in from the lip of flooring outside the back
wall—it has
been a very wet summer after all, and the plumber’s putty I’d put there
was
falling apart. I left both the box spring and mattress leaning upright
and the
window open to help dry it out, but I’ll have to figure out how to
protect that
wall. To celebrate the completed stairs, I had hot chocolate on the
porch. The
whole process today had taken only two and a half hours.
My plan had been to work on the stairs until late
in the
rising tide and then kayak with the whale as it came in to feed, as it
had at
that time for the last two days. But as the waves lapped the shore,
there were
no gulls circling and no whale and I grew less enthusiastic about
kayaking on a
quiet ocean, however, as the tide had come in, the riverboat had wound
up
snuggling with the Ronquil on the wrong side and now I could hear them
banging
each other gently. I would have to go and extricate them if nothing
else. I so
put Cailey boldly in the lodge, sitting on the couch long enough to
invite her
up, and kayaked out to the boats alone. I started out by kayaking into
the back
of the riverboat to push it up and around the front of the Ronquil. It
moved a
few feet, then stopped, so I kayaked between them and pushed it up by
hand
until it was perpendicular to the bow of the Ronquil; I finished by
again
kayaking into it, pushing the stern around until it could float freely
behind
as it was meant to.
By that time I was enjoying the evening, so I
continued
kayaking on into the sun at the end of the inlet. Other than a startled
splash
not far off to starboard (probably a seal), I didn’t encounter any
wildlife,
but I was very much enjoying the serenity of the evening and the
reflections of
the mountains and the sky over Gilbert Bay playing in the glassy
rounded waves.
I kayaked out to River Point enough to peer into the rest of
Snettisham,
startling a handful of mergansers there, then kayaked back along the
shoreline,
taking a GPS waypoint at Garnet Rock, largely submerged. As I
approached the
eagle nesting point I looked for the eagle nest and found two! I had to
paddle
backwards to verify, but sure enough, there were two nests in the old
tree—the
dilapidated one still in disarray and a brand new nest 15-20 feet above
it! So
that’s where they were building all summer! Perhaps they’ll have better
luck
there than the seemed to have in their new nest up the hill.
I was pleased to see that Cailey hadn’t gotten
into any food
in my absence. She I and puttered around the property then, shimming
and
nailing in the last board on the stairs, strategically placing some of
the
chunks of sod I’d dug up onto the end of the trail above the stairs to
close
the gap between the trail and the first tread, and hauling a rock from
behind
Mink to place in front of the stairs. I also gorilla glued the piece of
window
that a bear had apparently chewed off of Harbor Seal while Katie and
Rob slept
inside three weeks earlier and sprayed one of the pieces of iron stove
with
WD-40 to see how that would work to protect it. If that’s the only can
I have,
I may not be able to treat very much more this year as I am nearly out
and want
to treat the door knobs before close up. I also moved bedding and
toiletries
from Hermit Thrush to Cottonwood while the box spring dries. Back at
the lodge
I put the rest of the tools away and swept the porch and stairs, then
started
reading “Pebble in the Sky”—my long awaited science fiction book I’ve
been
saving for this trip. Birds continued to flit by and cheap at me when I
was on
the porch. Today’s most notable encounter was a delightful little
Lincoln’s
sparrow that has been frequenting the meadow. When retrieving the
kayak, he
flew into a yarrow and stayed there a long while as I watching him,
observing
his beautiful markings closely. I also heard several soft varied thrush
calls
while in bed this morning, and saw a female in the bushes later.
Not very hungry, I ate a few snacks for dinner and
read
inside the lodge. When dusk descended I considered heading to
Cottonwood cabin
to settle in for the night, but when I saw that the sky was clear I
reconsidered and stayed in the lodge until it got darker so I could see
more
stars. When I finally gave in, there was still light behind the
mountain and
the Milky Way was not yet visible. Embarrassingly, what I thought must
be an
unusually large Mars turned out to be an airplane! I headed to
Cottonwood,
brushed my teeth, made the bed, and got everything ready before heading
back to
the porch of the lodge one more time. The rewards were worth it. Now
dark, the
Milky Way was visible and when I raised my binoculars to it I was
floored by
the number of stars. It seemed an appropriate activity having launched
in my
latest Isaac Asimov book. Above was a bright dot that I suspect was a
planet—I’ll have to look that up back home. I lay on the porch and star
gazed
for some time before retiring to Cottonwood to read until sleep.
Perfectly transluscent jelly
Three boats (pushing the riverboat around)
The stairs begin
Completed stairs
Completed stairs
We settle in for the night in Cottonwood
I slept well until 4:00 a.m. when a rhythmic
banging sound
woke me up; it didn’t take long to figure out that it was the sound of
boats
clanging. Had the two boats snuggled again with the tide changes? It
went on
and on and I decided I’d better check in case something dangerous was
going on.
Reluctantly I got dressed and walked to the lodge porch where the
landscape was
well enough lit by a crescent moon to reveal that the boats were
aligned as
they should be behind each other. I walked to the water’s edge (high
tide
again) and saw that a breeze was blowing in off Gilbert Bay and was
causing the
boats to move and the waves to lap against them. I went back to bed,
relieved
when the clanging stopped about an hour later. Sleeping in Cottonwood
is quite
different from Hermit Thrush where the creek creates enough white noise
to
drown out other sounds—and, of course, I’m much farther away from
everything.
Strangely, I felt much less secure in Cottonwood.
I got up at 9:00 a.m. and felt much more refreshed
than I
had the day before, though I’m still working on feeling well rested.
The
morning was sunny and beautiful and a breeze was blowing down the
river,
lapping again at the bows of the boats, which were still floating (the
low tide
would drop to only 3’ today and not until 11:23). I drank Russian tea
and ate a
granola bar at the edge of the deck in the warmth of the September sun.
I began
to make plans for the day, considering what to do when the boats
floated. But
the tide was still falling, so I took some time to take new waypoints
on all
the buildings on the property as well as tracks on all the trails. I
started
out going up to the outhouse and from there to the olive barrel, taking
waypoints on the valves on the way down. Then I walked the rest of the
property
twice—once for buildings and once for the track. Finally I took a
waypoint at
the corner within the creek, sought fruitlessly for the corner on the
point
(having peered in the direction of the line on the top of the creek
marker,
which lined up with two rocky points), then walked the uphill boundary
taking
waypoint at all the trees, hoping that following that path would lead
me to the
final corner. It didn’t, but I did pick up a bunch more waypoints for
the GIS
project.
At that point it was only 11:00 a.m., but I was
hungry so I
made myself a picnic lunch—bread, havarti, pea pods, and canned
peaches. The
boats were aground then, but not far from the edge of the water. I
decided I’d
carry gear down there so I didn’t have to come ashore when I kayaked
out to
them when I left. I gathered up my camping gear, tarp, and Cailey’s
blankets
and walked them down to the boat, fueling it up while I was there. The
tide was
coming in and was only a few feet away, so I decided to make a quick
trip for
the rest of my gear and wait out the tide on the boat rather than
having to use
the kayak (I’d have to drop the gear off on shore on the way back
anyway, so
there was no point in staging a kayak on the water). Ten minutes later
I was
back; there was water around the boat but it was still firmly aground,
so I
made myself comfy in the sun on the back bench and read until it was
well
floating. I picked up the net from the Ronquil along with Cailey and
then took
off for the Friday Mine around 12:30.
After
anchoring the boat to the beach (the tide
would be
rising for the rest of the afternoon), I decided to leave my pack there
and
head back in the direction of Gilbert Bay to see what other ruins I
could find,
particularly to see if I could find the site of the house in a picture
I have from
the early 1900s that I suspect was in the area. I passed the ruins of
the mill
and continued on a fine trail along the shore (see photo to left)—so
fine that I wondered
if it was
a human trail as well as a game trail. It was narrow in places and ran
along
the side of a vertical rocky cliff, but I soon had my answer. Before
me, the
trail was broken where small logs had rotten through. But the logs were
grouped
suspiciously regular and were elevated above the ground; there were
perhaps six
or so side by side across a gap. I jumped off the trail and looked
beneath, and
it seemed clear that they’d been placed there by humans and that the
trail
behind me was also artificial. How interesting! That would be the area
that historically
had a plank boardwalk too, presumably closer to the water….was this a
secondary
trail?
In any event, the walking was delightful and easy.
The trail
ended (as far as I could tell) as the next creek in the neighboring
cove. There
I was surprised to find a cluster of square pilings on either side of
the creek
rising out of a very flat area. Most had large iron rebar sticking out
of them,
or to the side, and some had large iron hoops next to them. One of
these
timbers, or one similar, was lying across the creek. I wonder what
structure
was there.
I crossed the creek and headed up the hillside,
there being
no shelf at the water’s edge, but a steep cliff rising above the beach.
I
followed a trail of large cut stumps for quite a distance, over several
rises,
stopping at each stump that could potentially be the stump in the photo
I had.
It was a revelation when I realized that if the house was facing toward
Stephen’s Passage, the illusion of being on the edge of the water was
easily
realized, and the mountains in the distance could be to the west rather
than
north as I’d originally assumed. It also became apparent that it didn’t
take
much elevation gain to appear to be quite high.
Eventually the stumps ran out, surprisingly far
from the
mill. On the way back, I investigated a lower flat area on the next
point north
of the creek with the pilings—the only land at a lower elevation than
the cliff
top I’d been skirting. This area had obviously been totally cleared of
trees: there
were not only many stumps, some cut at an angle as the land dropped off
to the
point, but there were cut logs lying on the ground and the only
vegetation was
dense tiny spruces and alders along the edge. I found a metal can
there. Then I
made the mistake of descending on a well worn trail to the beach, but
there was
no trail to follow from there, only the edge of a steep cliff and very
slippery
black rocks. Getting around a huge deadfall that covered the beach was
difficult.
But Cailey and I made it back to the creek (hoping it was a good sign
for my
victim that I saw a kingfisher along the way) and from there climbed up
the
slope beyond instead of following the trail closer to the beach. There
I found
more potential stumps and stumbled upon a huge assemblage of large
metal
pipes—the ones I suspect Chris and Rob found a number of years ago.
Nearby was
a small trickle of a creek that seemed to be depositing iron as it
flowed so I
followed that up a ways to see if it led to artifacts. I didn’t find
anything,
so I descended again to the old mill and explored it a little. It was
right out
of an adventure game—huge beams fallen from a sheer cliff face, the lip
of it
above me topped in concrete, indicating that the cliff was apparently
part of
the structure! The beams on the back seemed to have fallen with curious
iron
rectangles attached. Five feet from the cliff face were enormous wooden
blocks,
and more sections of concrete foundation.
On
the way back to the boat I stopped by the neat
rock wall
on the stream just inland from the boat (see photo to right) and soon
discovered that the
patch job
on the heel of my right boot had failed. Back at the beach I sat and
had a diet
Dr. Pepper and decided I may as well make a go for the Friday Mine. My
GPS said
it was only .44 miles away—surely I could make it? It was only 2:30 or
so.
Fueled with caffeine, I headed up the corduroy road, but made no effort
to
follow it more than 50 yards. I knew where I was going more or less and
knew
that following the road would be futile. Instead I headed along shore
gaining
elevation as I went. About 20 minutes in or so I checked my coordinates
and saw
that I was about even with the mine but that it was quite a bit farther
inland
from me. Unfortunately, that meant that there was an insanely steep
mountainside between me and the mine. It was, again, like climbing a
ladder,
only without all the jumbly rocks underneath as it had been when
climbing to
the Crystal Mine. I was grateful for every tree that I could haul
myself up
with that provided a place for a brief rest. But at least there wasn’t
much
undergrowth! At the top I checked the GPS again and saw that I was
still too
close to shore. That meant descending the other side of this narrow
ridge. I
didn’t relish the idea of climbing back up it to 
get
home, but I was
heartened
when I reached the bottom and saw that I was likely on the road, as
indicated
by a smooth path of skunk cabbage in the center of the ravine and many
small
cut trees. I had a hunch that I was near the pile of barrels I’d found
many
years ago, and indeed, found them just a few yards further in a boggy
opening.
My GPS told me that I was still too close to
shore, so I
ascended the other side of the ravine, somewhat less tall and less
steep.
Surely I was close! But it too was a narrow ridge and still the GPS
said go
inland. I made the small descent on the other side, noticing that the
creek at
the bottom ran over bedrock in several places. That started a lot of
wandering
here and there on the as the GPS led me first one way and then another.
I
didn’t have much faith that the coordinate was completely accurate (it
hadn’t
been for the Crystal Mine) but I at least wanted to say I’d been at the
exact
spot. The terrain was not as promising for searching it out, as it was
not an
even mountainside but a serious of hills and ravines, and I’d seen no
rocky
outcroppings at all. Eventually I gave up, filled several baggies of
substrate from
the creeks for Rob, sent an okay message with my SPOT, climbed the
nearby
ridge, and descended onto the road. Instead of going up the
ridiculously steep
ridge on the other side, I followed the road back—if it is a
road—toward
Gilbert Bay, keeping on the downhill side. At one point the road was so
obvious
just as the ravine opened out into a gully that I climbed back up onto
it. Then
it was crossed by a deadfall and all trace of it was extinguished.
After that I
struggled through a maze of tangled deadfall and was truly glad to push
my way
below them and back to normal bushwhacking.
I was fairly close to sea level again when I
crossed the
penultimate gully to my destination—at least, that was my best guess as
to
where I was. As I crouched to shuffle under a log I thought “if I see a
barrel,
I’ll know that’s where I am.” A couple of minutes later I found the
barrel—the
same one I’d seen around this time last fall on the same expedition. It
only
took us 25 minutes to get back to the beach from where I’d turned
around. I
filled up one more bag of sand for Rob, tucked it into the doggy bag,
and
pulled the boat in, which was floating nicely off the pilings. Cailey
and I
headed out, grateful when we were back in the sunshine; it wasn’t until
we were
in Gilbert Bay that I realized I’d left Rob’s sand on the beach. Cold
and
anxious of the adventure ahead, I decided to leave it there and hope it
remained until I could pick it up later.
Next stop: Gilbert Creek. Camping? Running the creek? Both were on the agenda, but I knew that I may not do either. My t-shirt was soaked with sweat and I was chilly and I knew Cailey was much more exhausted and hungry than I was. Did I have it in me to run the creek, explore, find a place to camp, gather firewood, etc.? What about all the Sweetheart bears? Were there even good camping places?
I found the estuary flooded and cruised up where I
know the creek channel to be
and along the shore toward Gilbert Creek. I was delighted by a flock of
Canada
geese who’d been sitting in the mouth of Sweetheart Creek and wished
that I
could get a better look at and not disturb the many ducks I saw along
the way.
The only mishap was passing over some submerged grass; it didn’t stop
the
engine or anything, but I was afraid I might have sucked some up. The
engine
didn’t seem as efficient and I could hardly get up on step. By the time
I got
to the creek I was too timid to go fast, especially with an engine that
seemed
reluctant suddenly. I puttered around the first big “C” curve of the
creek,
staying on the deep channel side. As I passed a gravel bar inhabited by
a
charming yellowlegs on the left, the creek got shallow and I quickly
shut down.
The cord still pulled, but a little gratingly, so I decided to push
myself
across the creek and clean it out on the other side. First, though, I
walked
around the meadow there and found it just as torn up as the meadow on
the other
side—heavily trampled by bears, with many roots dug up. There was a
shelf of
less disturbed vegetation closer to the alders fringing the woods, but
I opted
not to camp there. I also opted not to run the creek, not that late in
the
evening, with sweat chilling me, the sun disappearing, and the
potential for
engine work if I wound up in shallow water.
Since my boot was leaking I put my waders on
(backwards it
turned out), emptied the anchor/chain/line out of the bucket, and
sloshed water
up the jet. Lots of grass came out. When it seemed all clear and the
cord was
moving smoothly, I pushed us back into deep water and we puttered out
of the creek.
Back in the estuary, but still influenced by the movement of the creek
channel,
I cast for several minutes as we drifted past large deadfall in the
water which
looked like enticing places for coho to rest, but without luck. I tried
and
failed to avoid the grass on the way out (the creek must make an
unexpected
turn there), but didn’t have any problems escaping the estuary. I did
pass
close by the grassy beach on the north edge of Gilbert Bay which looked
like a
wonderful place to camp—even a gorgeous little creek—but opted not to,
in part
because I had no tender for anchoring the boat. Cailey reassured me I’d
made
the right decision when I finally got back to shore for good. I’d left
her and
the gear on the beach and returned alone to tie up the boats. She was
more
anxious than I’d expected, following me down the beach and watching
avidly.
When I got back to shore she danced and raced in rare form, running
crazy
circles through the woods around the lodge. For myself, I lit the fire
I had
ready, fed Cailey, cleaned myself up and changed clothes, scrubbed the
pants
I’d bushwhacked in, and finally made dinner. I was sitting and eating
it, baked
beans, when I realized that not only had I left all the camping food in
the
action packer on the riverboat (something I was willing to live with),
but I’d
also left my book there, something I was unwilling to live with. I
decided
dinner could wait. Cailey didn’t seem eager to stay behind, so she
wound up
kayaking out with me to pick everything up. Now she’s snoozing at the
other edge
of the couch while I type. It’s nearly 9:00 p.m. and quite dark now.
Back to my
book!
Cailey on the old trail near the Friday Mine mill site
Logs form the old trail
Pilings and rebar in the next creek down the beach
One of many possible but unlikely locations for the cabin
The promontory that was entirely cleared
Ruins of the Friday Mine mill
Part of the Friday Mine mill
Pebbly concrete at the mill
A steep slope I climbed
A slope I climbed down (or up?)
The road through the saddle
The mine is supposed to be in here somewhere
Part of the road to the mine
Mouth of Gilbert Creek
Heading back from Gilbert Creek
Leaving Friday Mine mill site